Reflections
by jewelofgondor
Summary: The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle Earth is about to begin." A story about how Éomer of Rohan found love--and his stuggle to hold onto it--in the city of Minas Tirith. NOT ÉomerLothíriel. Slightly AU (but not that much, I promise
1. Lady of the White Tower

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters mentioned here. They all of course belong to J.R.R Tolkien and family. Any quotes used belong to the afformentioned Tolkien, Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillipa Boyens. I'm just using them in my own creative expression.

Setting: Middle Earth, the year 3019 in the Kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor. Takes place during the time of the War of the Ring--mainly ROTK (with flashbacks to some TTT happenings). + and _italics_ denote a memory. Warning: spoilers herein!

Rating: PG (subject to change)

Pairings: Éomer/oc, some Faramir/Éowyn, and a little Aragorn/Arwen.

Summary: "The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle Earth is about to begin." A story about how Éomer of Rohan found love--and his stuggle to hold onto it--in the city of Minas Tirith. NOT Éomer/Lothíriel.; Slightly AU (but not that much, I promise).  
*Based on a premise (made up by me of course ;P) that Finduilas--wife of Denethor, mother to Boromir and Faramir--died in childbirth giving life to a daughter. Faramir was always a favorite character of mine and I felt so terrible that he lost his whole family by the end of LOTR. I know he had Éowyn and I love them together, but he had no one who could really understand his losses. Thus, I have given him a sister. Also I thought there should be more Éomer romances out there so I combined the ideas. Enjoy!

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Chapter One ~ Lady of the White Tower

A young woman stood in the cool breeze. Her amber-brown hair was pulled back securely by two silver clips but a few tendrils began to blow into her somber face. She stood tall at thirty-one years old but many told her that she didn't look a day over twenty one. Her bright blue eyes and delicate fair skin contributed greatly to this, she imagined.

She was alone--alone outside the citadel of her great city. Minas Tirith. She had been born there, raised there, and lived there her whole adult life. And she feared she would die there as well. It wasn't that she wanted to get away, not really. Minas Tirith was called the city of kings and rightfully so. But it seemed as though she had never been away. The furthest distance she could claim was Osgiliath, some fifteen miles away--and that was only because her brothers had snuck her over. It had to have been nearly thirteen years ago.

No, she would most likely remain in the city her whole life, though she longed to see her mother's homeland, Dol Amroth. She longed to see the elven homelands, the woods of Ithilien, and the plains of Rohan. Instead she stood at her father's side. Her father was Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor. It was his strong wish that she remained in the city with him and at his side most of that time. Maybe the only way he knew to show love to someone was by clinging tightly to them. She supposed it also could be because she was the closest link he had to sweet Finduilas, loving wife and mother. This must have pained Denethor, for it pained his young daughter everytime she thought of it, though she stayed with him willingly.

Míriel;, lady of Gondor, daughter of the Steward, looked over the grassy plains of the Pelennor field. In the distance, she could see the broken down city of Osgiliath. The furthest she had ever been was right within her eyesight. She had no duties that would bring her elsewhere. The realism inside her told her that not many women did, but the pent-up adventurer argued that she should have some kind of duty that would allow her to be out on her own a bit...any kind. The only real friend she could claim was her cousin, the princess Lothíriel; of Dol Amroth. And even they weren't very close. They differed in age a bit and the only time they saw each other was when Lothíriel; would accompany her father, Míriel;'s uncle, Imrahil to Minas Tirith. Of course, she knew the people of Minas Tirith loved her, she could never deny that or depreciate it. They found in her what they would never find in Steward Denethor: a gentle spirit. Too gentle, Míriel; imagined.

Míriel; took in a deep breath and her eyes turned eastward. Smoke was rising from the Mountain of Fire. It reminded her that perhaps it was a good thing to be sheltered inside the white city. But it also reminded her just how alone she was. Her brothers were gone and her father...was just her father. She sometimes felt he was a burden but she always felt horrible for the thought even crossing her mind. But if she could be honest with no one else, she had to be honest with herself.

She heard a horse's neigh from below. A faint smile graced her lips as her mind drifed back to a time not that long ago...

+_"Lady Míriel;," came a soldier's voice at the doorway of the citadel. "There is a Rohirrim soldier that requests passage into the city." Beregond's voice was tentative and Míriel; knew he wouldn't have even bothered asking had Lord Denethor been present. Her father was untrusting towards those outside of Gondor and many of those inside as well._

Míriel; felt no such way. In fact she had mentioned to her father that it may be in Gondor's best interest to remain friendly with other lands. The thought was met with a gruff sigh as many things Míriel; said were. The issue was never brought up between the two again. "We are still a friend to Rohan, are we not? We cannot deny this soldier entrance because of my father's personal feelings. Ask him his intentions and show him to the citadel."

"I asked him, he requests lodging, my lady," came Beregond's reply.

"On what buisness?"

"He did not say."

Míriel; sat thoughful for a fleeting second. "Show him here," she told the Gondorian warrior. Beregond nodded and left. Míriel; felt quite proud of herself. Her father would have a thing or two to say once he got word of what she had done. And for some reason, that thought suddenly scared her. Had she made a mistake in allowing this Rider of Rohan into Minas Tirith?

Of course not, she knew. She shook all thoughts of her father away. Steward Denethor was not here, miraculously enough, he had been away quite awhile and would most likely be for awhile longer. Osgiliath needed him, he stated. And although he hesitated to leave Míriel;, as he had all her life, he absolutely refused to bring her along with him. Staying was not an option, Denethor had grumbled as his distrust for his younger son Faramir was even greater than his overprotection of his daughter--as difficult as it was for Míriel; to believe at times. So begrudingly, he left Minas Tirith in her charge and left for the collapsing city of Osgiliath.

"My lady," came Beregond's voice for the doorway, knocking her out of her reverie. "Éomer son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark." He stepped aside to reveal the rugged Rohan warrior. "My lord, Lady Míriel.;"

No fireworks clapped from the azure sky as the two laid eyes on each other for the first time. Both could appeciate the fair qualities of the other but there was no immediate reaction as Éomer made his way past the statues of Gondor's kings toward Míriel.; She arose as he approached.

"My lady," Éomer murmured, taking her hand into his and brushing a light kiss over it. Míriel; had to hold in a giggle as no other man dared to perform such an action on her. "My gratitude for your generousity and hospitality in letting me into your city."

"My lord, you are most welcome," she replied.

Éomer looked at her briefly before saying. "May I speak openly, my lady?"

"You may."

The Third Marshal took a deep breath before saying, "I have to admit I wasn't expecting passage so freely. In fact, I was half expecting Lord Denethor himself to come down and tell me to leave. His feeling towards outsiders aren't exactly a secret. Just out of curiousity, where is the steward?"

"He is tending to buisness in Osgiliath and has left the care of the city to me. I am his daughter, Míriel.;"

Realization came over Éomer's face. "So you are the youngest child of the steward. The Lady of the White Tower, the Jewel of Gondor."

This time, Míriel; could not hold back a laugh. "People exaggerate, Lord Éomer," she said. "And I assure you I am not a child. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that I am older than you are."

An ever-so-slight blush crept into Éomer's cheeks. Míriel; smiled. "You are lucky in one thing though, Éomer of Rohan."

"And what is that, Míriel; of Gondor?" A smile played on his lips.

Míriel; hesitated. Were they flirting? She brushed the thought away. "It is that I do not share my father's feelings toward the other peoples of Middle Earth. You are welcome in Minas Tirith as long as I claim authority," she said, her tone serious.

He nodded his thanks to her and asked, "When do we expect the steward back?"

"I don't expect him back anytime soon but I must be honest, I have no idea what his plans are." She paused. "Don't worry, my lord. If my father should return unexpectedly, I'm sure we could slip you out easily enough." Míriel;'s eyes twinkled with amusement.

Éomer's widened with surprise at her spirit.

Míriel; could hardly believe it herself. +

Horses hooves clapped against against the stone below her. She peered down and saw a flash of white go by on the fourth level of the city.

"Mithrandir," she breathed, stepping away from the wall.

"Míriel;!" came a brisk call from inside the citadel. She winced at the booming voice of her father.

She rushed back inside. "Forgive me, my lord," she whispered, taking her seat beside Lord Denethor.

The steward did not answer. His head was bowed, Míriel; noticed as she slowly turned to look at him. Her eyes travelled to the object in his hands. Her stomach flipped when she saw it. The horn of Gondor. Boromir's horn. "Did you know about this?" he asked gravely, his eyes slanting toward her. Míriel; wracked her mind for an answer that her father would accept.

She was saved by the citadel's doors opening and Gandalf the White entered, a small figure at his side. "Hail Denethor son of Ecthelion! Lord and steward of Gondor," Gandalf called. "Lady Míriel;," he acknowledged. "I come with tidings in this dark hour."

"Perhaps you came to tell me why my son is dead," Denethor said, looking up for the first time and holding up the horn cloven in two. Míriel; struggled to hold in her emotion. She noticed the small figure beside Mithrandir was working to control himself as well.

"Boromir died defending my kinsman and me," he spoke up. "He fought bravely but was outnumbered. I offer you my service in payment of this debt."

"Peregrin Took," Mithrandir whispered gruffly. The young man stood up quickly. Míriel; couldn't pull her eyes from him. He knew her eldest brother, he was there when Boromir died. Peregrin Took looked toward her and they momentarily made eye contact.

"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king!" Gandalf was saying, his tone firm and very stern.

Míriel;'s head snapped toward Mithrandir. King? Returning to Gondor after so many long years? She didn't even dare to believe it.

Denethor glared back at him with fire in his eyes. He leapt out of his seat and commanded, "The rule of Gondor is mine!"

With a huff, Gandalf turned on his heel and made his way out of the citadel. Peregrin quickly followed after him, turning once to look at the steward and briefly at Míriel.; Denethor's face was still red with anger as he retook his seat. "Show them to their quarters as they will most likely be expecting accomidations," he said, his tone dismissive. "I wish to be alone."

"Yes, my lord," Míriel; said, moving to obey her father's request. Mithrandir and Peregrin Took had not gotten far when she caught up with them. "Mithrandir!" she called to him. "Is it true? Has the heir of Isildur been found?"

Gandalf stared at her for a few seconds before replying as if trying to assess whether or not he should tell her. "He rides with Théoden of Rohan." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Though Denethor may have turned his back on the Rohirrim, Gondor still has friends."

"The Rohirrim..." Míriel; said absently. "How do things fare in Rohan?" Her tone was more than a little hopeful.

"They have survived a brutal attack from the armies of Saruman," Mithrandir responded. "One thing they have learned is that the fortress of Helm's Deep is not invinsible as they had once thought. They prevailed, much thanks to Aragorn."

"Aragorn?"

"Isildur's heir," Gandalf explained simply. "Wingfoot, as Éomer likes to call him," he continued with a small chuckle.

"Éomer?" Míriel; repeated, hoping her voice didn't make her suspect.

"Théoden's nephew." Gandalf sighed. "The Rohirrim will ride to Gondor's aide. If only your father would light the beacons. War is coming to Minas Tirith. It will not delay because the steward is not ready to forsake his pride." Míriel; turned away, her mind spinning. Gandalf turned to Peregrin, who stood next to him. "Peregrin Took, it is time for another halfling to show their great worth." He nodded toward the White Tower. "If Denethor cannot do what is right for his country than it must be done for him. You must light the beacons. That is, if it be alright with the Lady of the White Tower." He smiled gently at her and Míriel; forced a shaky smile. Mithrandir turned back to Peregrin. "Do not fail me."

Peregrin took in a deep breath and headed for the tower. Gandalf turned back to Míriel.; "I know you are obligated to your father and I wouldn't try to tell you to go against his will. But you must not let yourself be manipulated. You must be strong." He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Míriel; looked up at him. "I will be strong...for Gondor."

  
  
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	2. The Muster of the Rohirrim

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters mentioned here. They all of course belong to J.R.R Tolkien and family. Any quotes used belong to the afformentioned Tolkien, Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillipa Boyens. I'm just using them in my own creative expression.

Note: + and _italics_ denote a memory.

A/N: I'm sorry it seems confusing, but the timeframe of the flashbacks (when Éomer is in Minas Tirith) will hopefully become clearer as the story goes along. I'm will be using details from the book as well as the movies (I won't be using the particular bit about Éomer being banished thats in the movies--not exactly anyway...you'll see ;P), though it is safe to say that I will follow the movie closer than the book. The time Éomer is in Gondor moviewise would be the end of FOTR/beginning of TTT (before Théodred is killed). I will try to add details that will make it obvious. Sorry for the confusion!

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Chapter Two ~ The Muster of the Rohirrim

Éomer's sword lay perfectly polished at his feet. He leaned down and took it into his hands with the utmost care. As silly as it sounded, this weapon had been like the brother he never had. 'Gúthwinë' he called it, as it truly had become his 'battle-friend.'

The filth of Saruman had been defeated at Helm's Deep and at Isengard. Thanks to the bravery of the people of Rohan, along with the awakening of Fangorn Forest, the Rohirrim were able to journey back home. For Éomer and his family, that was Edoras, home of the Golden Hall of Meduseld.

It was true, there had been many victories in Rohan of late--the healing of King Théoden, the banishment of Gríma Wormtongue, and the triumph at the Hornburg. All seemed to coincide with the mysterious arrival of Aragorn and his companions.

"Wingfoot," Éomer mused alound, a half-smile on his face. Though he had been wary of the travellers at first, he had more than once patted himself on the back for his decision to aid them in their journey. But that was where the self-appraisal stopped. Éomer looked down at the stable floor grimly. 'Théodred died because of my selfishness,' he told himself. One more man would not have made much of a difference, obviously, but if he had just been there, even if he had died as well... Everyone had their moments, he knew, but his moment had lasted nearly a month and a half. To leave when Rohan was weakening by the day was inexcusable. And to Gondor of all places.

A gentle breeze wafted through the stable, touselling Éomer's golden hair. He couldn't help the warm feeling that came over him. Looking around to make sure he was alone, he let the smile come to his face. He felt a mixture of guilt, embarassment, and almost giddiness--plus everything in between.

His uncle Théoden was wrestling with his feelings for the southern land of Gondor and for awhile Éomer felt similarly. After all, they had left Rohan to fight the tremendous forces of Saruman alone. But much had changed for the Third Marshal of the Mark over the past several weeks. He had learned that a kingdom was only as great as it's leader. With this fact, the future looked bright for Rohan. For Gondor, the future was shadowed and the present was in turmoil. Though they were the last free kingdom of men, the rule of Gondor was weak. Denethor was a coward, Éomer had found out quickly. His fists clenched at the mere thought of the steward. A wiser, stronger, and much more capable leader could be found right under Lord Denethor's nose.

Éomer held in a heavy sigh that wanted to escape from him. He chided himself for such emotions--he should know better. Such strong feelings could not be real after so short a time. Could they? After all, he barely knew her. But somehow he felt he had never been closer to anyone...

+_Éomer wandered the fifth level of Minas Tirith three days after he'd arrived in the great city._

"Lord Éomer," called a woman's voice behind him. He turned to see Míriel; headed toward him. Her dark hair was pulled back as always and she held up the billowing black and silver folds of her gown as she caught up with him.

"My lady," he greeted with a bright smile. Éomer couldn't help but notice how her eyes shone like two blue orbs in the morning sunlight.

"I hadn't seen you since you arrived. I wasn't sure if you were still in the city or had ridden off in the night," Míriel; said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Éomer looked away in mock-bashfulness. "If I'm being honest with my lady, I hadn't left my chambers in those three days. The comforts of the white city are quite a bit more luxurious than I am used to."

"I'm glad you are pleased," Míriel; said, noticing the wistfulness in his eyes. "You miss Rohan?" she ventured.

He simply nodded hoping she took the hint as he didn't want to talk about it. Though she had to have been quite curious about Rohan and more importantly, why this Rider was so far from home, with any luck she would save the questioning for later.

"So what is it that made you venture out this morning, my lord?"

Éomer seemed to snap out of a daze at the sound of her voice. "Actually I was looking for the stables. The guard at the gate said he would take care of Firefoot for me and I am anxious to see that he is being tended to."

"The stables are on the first level. I'm sure Beregond took very good care of your horse but I can understand you desire to check on him." Míriel; paused. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

He turned to look at her. "I would," he replied simply and sincerely.

They made their way down to the base level of Minas Tirith, chatting lightly, with Míriel; pointing out various things. Éomer couldn't help but notice the looks he was getting. Some would smirk, others would smile graciously, and others yet would glance quickly and turn away equally as fast.

"Its just curiousity, my lord," Míriel; said in a low voice. "Ignore them."

"I beg your pardon?"

Míriel; smiled gently. "Forgive me, Lord Éomer, but you had a quite bewildered look on your face and I thought that some of the looks you were getting might have something to do with it."

Éomer looked away momentarily. "It is I who should be apologizing, Lady Míriel.; I shouldn't be wearing my emotions all over my face as I was--in truth I haven't been much myself lately." He fell silent then, inwardly marvelling at how easily her name flowed off his tongue. He pushed the thoughts away quickly.

"Here we are," Míriel; said, breaking the silence, as they approached the stables. "Guests' horses are usually boarded near the front."

Éomer cringed inside at the thought of dear Firefoot being "boarded." He knew Míriel; meant no harm--she could not understand how important horses were to the people of Rohan.

"Which one is yours?" Míriel; asked, surveying the many horses in the stable.

Firefoot himself answered, neighing with delight as his master approached. Éomer smiled at the sight of his faithful companion. "Miss me, did you?" he asked the horse and Firefoot again neighed in reply.

Out of the corner of his eye, Éomer saw Míriel; smile at the exchange. Seeing him with his horse was almost like an insight into the ways of Rohan and particularly this mysterious Rider. If they had no one else, they had their loyal horses at their side. These thoughts no doubt brought up the important issue that had been on Míriel;'s mind since she'd seen Éomer that morning.

"I don't mean to pry my lord, but I must ask--" she paused. "What is a Rider of Rohan doing here in the city of Gondor so far from home?"

Éomer tensed at the inquiry. He knew it was coming. Lady Míriel; wouldn't be guarding her city properly if she didn't ask. "I am on an errand for King Théoden," he began slowly. "Not here specifically--" he faltered. "I'm on my way back now and I thought I'd visit the white city."

Deception was never his strong suit. Éomer always tended to be bluntly honest. Usually that was an admirable quality but he found himself wishing he could come up with a good story right about then.

It was written all over Míriel;'s face that she knew the story was just that: a story. But she didn't press.

And for that Éomer was truly thankful. The last thing he wanted to do right then was face the truth.+

A familiar voice called outside the stables. Éomer stepped outside and saw Aragorn running up the steps of the Golden Hall. He quickly followed to see what all the commotion was about.

"The beacons of Minas Tirith!" cried Aragorn. "The beacon of Halifirien is lit!"

Éomer ran into the Golden Hall just as the words were leaving Aragorn's lips. He barely noticed his sister Éowyn was at his side. Aragorn's words hit him coldly in the chest. 'The beacons of _Minas Tirith_...'

"Gondor calls for aid!" Aragorn said to Théoden.

All eyes then turned to the King of the Mark. He stood stoic for a moment or so as if deep in thought. Éomer could not believe his hesitation. Gondor was in dire need of their help--why else would the proud Lord Denethor even think about lighting the beacons? "Uncle," he said sharply, when Théoden remained silent. All eyes turned toward Éomer, the most curious ones belonging to his sister.

Théoden looked briefly at him, then back at Aragorn and replied firmly, "And Rohan will answer!"

Éomer sighed deeply within himself but tried not to show it outwardly. No one seemed to notice--no one, that is except Éowyn, whose eyes were still piercing him with curiousity.

"Muster the Rohirrim!" Théoden said to Éomer. "At dawn tomorrow, we ride for Gondor...and war." Éomer nodded to his uncle in response moving to comply. Éowyn's eyes still bore into his back as he left to do his duties.

The Rohirrim was ready by the next morning as the king had ordered. The night was long and Éomer could not let his mind rest. He had been through many battles in defense of Rohan. But now, it was not just Rohan that was at stake, it was all of Middle-Earth. This would be the greatest battle Middle-Earth had seen in an age or more. It stayed on Éomer's mind from the moment his uncle gave the order, to the rising of the sun the next day.

"Riders of Rohan!" Éomer called to the warriors that surrounded him. "Oaths you have taken, now fulfill them all! To life and liberty!" His heart pounded as he spoke the inspirational words to the men of his country. His mind pounded with thoughts of Minas Tirith and how he needed to protect it.

He needed to protect _her_--no matter what it took.

As it turned out, it would take nearly everything he had.

  
  
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